


A Bedtime Story

by shulamithbond



Series: Reality X [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Autism, Bullying, Disabled Character, Disabled Character of Color, Fluff, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Implied medical abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other, set in Hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shulamithbond/pseuds/shulamithbond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Note: originally written as part of my fanfiction novel for NaNoWriMo 2012.</p><p>What makes a Sith feel better? Revenge, of course! Even if his granddaughter can't avenge herself (yet), she and Darth Sidious can always pretend.</p><p>(Many thanks to frodogenic on Fanfiction.net for their AU pieces about Darth Vader and his grandchildren, especially "Lord Vader's Limpet," which were a big inspiration for me.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rated for some of the content of the "bedtime story" - I rounded up to be on the safe side.
> 
> O.C.s - Tara, an "illegitimate Sithling" and autistic with an Asperger's diagnosis; Aoife, a granddaughter and nonspeaking autistic.

         “She didn’t want to come,” Tara remarked sadly as she set five-year-old Aoife down on the cool if dusty stone floor of the Sith Temple. “She wasn’t totally up for the traveling, I think.”

        Sidious could see the change in his granddaughter immediately. Usually, after acclimating quietly to her surroundings, Aoife would stumble or spider-crawl or slide herself along the floor toward anyone she recognized as a potential playmate or at least as someone tolerant of her presence, which was most of the Temple’s occupants. Certainly, she would approach Sidious as quickly as her rebellious body could be made to move her.

         Now, Aoife simply sat – no, sagged – on the stone, slumped in what looked to Sidious like a position of defeat. After a few minutes of processing, she dragged herself to the wall, and slid her body under a table covered by a cloth, unused between mealtimes. She did not reemerge.

        “She likes being under things or inside things when she’s upset,” Tara continued. “I remember, she got frazzled at the Opera House a couple months back – they were doing this Life Day show especially for kids, so Kanos and I took her and Walter in plainclothes – and there was this huge crowd during the intermission, so she started panicking – well, actually Walter and I did, too, but you know how we’re better at handling crowds. So Kanos was trying to calm Walter down, and I was doing my best to process and it just wasn’t working – and you know that big, black, beautiful ancient instrument they have on display in that one part of the lobby there? It looks like a giant piano. Well, Aoife managed to get away from us and somehow no one trampled her, thank god, and she crawled right under it, between its legs, and just laid under there until people started going back into the theater and it got quieter. And then some dickhead usher came and started telling her to get out of there and we ended up blowing our cover, but then of course when Kanos told him who we really were the look on his face was just _priceless_ , and then the manager came out and started apologizing…it was actually pretty funny. And it all worked out, and we went back in and finished the show. And I’ve been wondering if I should get Aoife something like a piano for her room – she could lay under it when she felt overloaded or whatever”-

       “Tara, what happened to Aoife? What’s wrong with her? _Today?”_ He knew she was rambling because she was upset, too, but he didn’t care.

       Tara looked down. Normally, her eye contact was far from perfect, but she could manage to look into people’s faces, directing her gaze at the bridges of their noses, which were apparently less distracting than their eyes. At last she said, “You know, I keep wondering if she should be in…you know, a special-ed setting. School-wise. I mean, Mom mainstreamed me, so maybe I’m just biased toward it. I just feel like…she’d be bored in one of those classes…”

         “ _Tara.”_

        “It was these boys,” she murmured. “The other kids don’t help, because they don’t play with her, but what can you do, they’re five – there’s just this group of boys. And I found out about it today because the teacher and I walked in on it happening.”

        “What’s been happening?”

        “They just…give her a hard time. They get too close to her or poke her or take things she’s using. Today…they were getting more physical, but it was just pushing and hitting. I mean, I don’t think they’ve been…playing doctor or anything like that.” But she suspected so, Sidious could see. He felt rage twist his gut.

        And the thing of it was: the other parents at the center were elites. As Empress, Tara outranked them, but all the same, they were not people who could be easily knocked about. Tara would likely schedule some meeting with the school and the boys’ parents, and because she was the Empress, something would likely be done. The parents might withdraw the boys, or the school might gently, privately ask them to leave. They might be reassigned to another class, or (unfair as it was) Aoife might be the one to be reassigned. But whatever happened, it was sure to be civil.

        Sidious’ lip curled. _It shouldn’t be civil._

        Tara was as overloaded as her daughter, so Sidious agreed – as he had many times before – to keep an eye on Aoife while Tara went away for just an hour to herself.

       When she was gone, Sidious bent down and pulled up the tablecloth slightly. “Come out of there, child.”

        No response; not even a glance toward him or anything in the Force. He tapped her lightly on the shoulder; she flinched hard. She didn’t always want to be touched, but he had never seen her do that before. His rage darkened further. He shielded it carefully so as not to frighten her. “Aoife, come out of there. We’ll go up to my room. Where the books are. And the dejarik pieces.” Aoife didn’t yet grasp the game of dejarik, of course, but she enjoyed playing with the pieces as if they were dolls, acting out scenarios on the board that only she completely understood. It kept her occupied for hours. Aoife was one of those children who was surprisingly good at amusing herself.

         She held out her arms reluctantly, limply allowing him to lift her out and carry her upstairs. Her weight in his arms (although she was not a naturally thin child; he wondered if he should be concerned with her weight as she grew, since it was difficult enough for her muscles to bear her) and against his shoulder – she nuzzled into him slightly, which he pointedly refused to be charmed by – reminded him of holding her when she was an infant. She had been a quiet baby, barely ever crying, and he remembered looking into the wide blue eyes, which scrutinized everything as the tiny brow crinkled in apparent profound thought. The miniscule hand with its tight, viselike grip on his finger. Looking down at her, he had realized then how powerful she would be, what potential she had; so great was his belief that even the news of the diagnosis of nonverbal autism, just a year or so later, did not shake it.

 

* * *

 

        She showed very little interest in the gamepieces, though, or in the books, which was unusual – Tara had informed him that Aoife had picked up reading more or less a year ago, and as a result was already bored with waiting for her classmates to read a page she had already finished during the group reading lessons. Admittedly, she still had not progressed far beyond picture books and was nowhere near ready to get through, much less understand, any of the books Sidious possessed; still, she liked to page through them, challenging herself to pick out words she knew, to “sound out” (in the Force) new words, or even to try and decipher the longer, more complex sentences she found. All on her own, without prompting or reward from anyone. Sidious doubted if even his own intellect had been so strong and insatiable at such a young age.

        But not today. She investigated both the pieces and the books for a minute or two, but then did nothing with them. Sidious sighed; he had suspected he would have to do this. Truth be told, he supposed he didn’t mind much; however, he was pretty certain that it was only a matter of time before either Bane or Tara found out about it, and he couldn’t see either of them being enthusiastic. Considering the tongue-lashing he’d gotten from Tara when he talked about stopping Aoife from flapping her arms (“stimming,” Tara, who did it too sometimes, called it), this probably would not go over well. But Aoife liked this, and it worked.

        “Aoife,” he asked her. “Would you like to hear…a story?”

       She could sense in the Force what kind of story he meant, and her body quaked with excitement – her hands flapped, her shoulders shook, she even smiled broadly – and even he had to admit that her enthusiasm was encouraging. Scooping her up in the Force – she always liked that; she let out a squeal as she fell out of the air onto soft blankets – he deposited her on his bed, and settled himself more comfortably in the cane chair where he had been sitting.

        She knew how this sort of story was supposed to begin, and so did he. He had invented them tentatively, the first time Aoife had gone off to play group, when a group of children had refused to let her join in some game.

        “Once upon a time,” he began now as she burrowed herself between pillows and bedclothes, “there was a beautiful and powerful princess named Aoife. She lived with her mother, her older brother Walter, her stepfather Captain Kanos, and her grandfather, Darth Sidious, in a beautiful palace made of black jewels on a planet so old and secret, it had no name. Darth Sidious was a great Lord of the Sith, and Aoife was his apprentice, and they ruled over the entire galaxy together.

        “But one day,” he continued, and he felt her tense, now that the prologue had ended and the unfamiliar part began, “Aoife went to school. And at school, there was a group of boys who liked to mock her and push her and hit her and hurt her. And Aoife became very sad, and so she told her grandfather Darth Sidious all about them.” He looked over at her; this was the one “audience participation” moment he had been able to build into the story. “And what do you think Darth Sidious did?”

        She was more engaged in the story now – and less sad, he could tell – but she was too low-spirited to do anything but give him a half-shrug. He had been prepared for that. “What Darth Sidious did was this. He hired the galaxy’s most frightening bounty hunters to take the boys while they lay sleeping in their beds, and to drag them to the black palace. When the bounty hunters woke the boys up and grabbed them in the dark, the boys thought that their worst nightmares had become real and were coming to get them.

        “As soon as they arrived at the palace, Darth Sidious locked all the boys in his deepest, darkest, coldest, most frightening dungeon for the rest of the night, with no food or water, and not even a single blanket to sleep on. At dawn, his guards dragged the boys up before his throne. Tired, hungry, and afraid as they were, the boys became so afraid of Darth Sidious that they began to cry. Aoife was sitting beside Sidious, wearing a beautiful black gown, and when the boys saw her, they were so amazed by her beauty and regality, and so ashamed of themselves, that they cried even harder – much harder than Aoife had ever cried because of them.

        “But Darth Sidious was not swayed by the boys’ pathetic display. He forced each of them, one by one, to apologize to Aoife and to beg for forgiveness”-

        _Knees?_ she interrupted.

         “Is there any other proper way to beg? Yes, of course, on their knees. Then, he decided what their punishments should be.” Sidious looked over at Aoife, in case she had any ideas. She was listening intently, right thumb in her mouth, didn’t seem to get the message; she never did, or maybe she preferred what he devised.

        “The boy who had hit Aoife, Darth Sidious had thrown out an air lock. Do you know what that is?” She shook her head. “An airlock is a special door on a spaceship that keeps all the air inside, so that it doesn’t leak out into space. Space has no air. In any case, when he was thrown out of the air lock, the boy was floating in space. He had no air to breathe, so he began to choke. But space was so cold, he froze solid even before all the air could leave his lungs.”

         She projected an image in the Force: a giant frozen juice bar, of the kind that children on Earth ate when it was hot, but with a boy – probably the boy from her class – stuck inside it. He had to laugh. “Precisely.”

        _Not j_ _ust like that_ , she told him seriously. _Not_ _a popsicle. In real life, just normal ice. But popsicles are funny._

       “They are,” he agreed. “Now, that was the first boy. The boy who had pushed Aoife, Darth Sidious sent to Tatooine. Do you know what lives on the planet Tatooine?”

        _Sand People,_ she replied promptly. Too late, Sidious remembered the past year that Aoife had spent fixated on every aspect of the Sand People’s existence, from their religion to their history to what they ate. Tara had reassured him that it was very normal for autistic children to have “special interests” which could change over time and which the child in question would happily think and talk about all or almost all the time. But Sidious had to wonder why it was the Sand People of Tatooine who had struck his granddaughter’s fancy.

        Well…they were free. They could go anywhere and do anything…well no, of course they couldn’t, not with prejudiced mobs of moisture farmers, and the various laws in place on the planet about their reserved land and hunting in season, et cetera. But small children didn’t understand fine details like that. And Aoife was at the age when she was just beginning to see what she wanted to see. She saw Sand People who always had a tribe around them, who never got tired or sore from physical therapy but could ride across the desert, who could just fight bullies themselves instead of having to be nice and let an adult handle it. The Sand People were free.

       “Well, yes. But also the Mouth of Sarlacc,” he explained. “It’s an enormous creature that lives in a pit in the sand, and anything that tumbles down into its mouth or is pulled in by one of its tentacles is swallowed, whole. So that is what Darth Sidious did with the second boy – he fed him to the Sarlacc.

        “The boy who had…” how did he say this? He had stumbled over the words to use, knowing that it – Tara’s “doctor” suspicions – needed to be included somehow. “The boy who had… _hurt_ Aoife, Darth Sidious sent to the spice mines of Kessel as a slave. This boy managed to live for almost a year, harvesting spice for days without seeing a single ray of sunlight, working until his lungs were full of spice and every bone in his body ached…as bad as Aoife’s aches were after her exercises,” he added. “Perhaps even worse. Definitely worse, in fact. But he survived, although he lived in misery, until one day an Energy Spider grabbed him by the leg and carried him off to feed to its newly-hatched young, who tore him apart as they ate him. And that was the end of the third boy.

        “And the last boy – the one who had simply mocked Aoife – after witnessing the ends of all his partners in crime, Darth Sidious allowed him to live, but he made the boy into Aoife’s slave for the rest of his life. He slept on the floor beside her bed at night, so that sleeping alone in the dark would never frighten her, and if she could not fall asleep, he had to read to her until she did. She could order him to do anything, no matter how disgusting or embarrassing it was, and if he made her unhappy, she could punish him however she liked. He was forbidden even to speak unless Aoife or Darth Sidious commanded him to.”

        He stopped. Soothed, at least temporarily, by fantasies of a vindication that would never become real, Aoife had drifted off. Meltdowns and subconscious existential crises took it out of a five-year-old. Using the Force, so as not to wake her, he covered her with one of the sheets. “And Darth Sidious and Aoife ruled the galaxy together for a thousand years,” he whispered. “And they both lived happily ever after.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be a one-shot, but I wrote this chapter in class when I was bored, because I needed more of the weird Sith fluffiness.

         “…For it is the nature of the Dark Side of the Force to consume all that it dispenses, to take even the stars unto itself and fill even the brightest among them with darkness – this is why it must be mastered, and yet the core of mastery is servitude, submission to”-

        From where she sat beside Maul, Asajj groaned. Privately, Sidious agreed with her. He really had no idea why he continued to attend these informal “philosophy teas” his former master always insisted upon giving during the hottest hour of the day (and in Hell, this was saying something). The time was better spent going over the psychotherapists' and instructors’ notes for Aoife, meticulously working out the strategy by which she would ascend and return the Empire and the Palpatine family name – and the name of the Sith – to its proper glory.

        Indeed, the time was probably better spent just taking a nap.

       But something drew him, aside from the cool tea, sweet and dotted with tantalizing ice cubes and spiked with a small amount of whiskey, which Sidious was pretty certain was why most of the others came and put up with Plagueis’ lecturing. Not sentimentality – Sidious hadn’t felt sentiment in all his century-long existence, living and otherwise, and he wasn’t going to start now. Perhaps it was simply that even after all this time, a part of his mind still did not grasp the notion that old Master Plagueis finally had nothing more to teach him.

        Now, he ignored Plagueis’ indignant look and indulged his own urge to fidget alongside the rest of the small audience. Calling these sessions “philosophical discussions” was greatly akin to calling a confrontation between a small insect and a boot a “battle.” There was, unfortunately, little else to do. Going outside the Sith Temple’s walls was not impossible, but it did require some preparation and not a little coolheadedness and gumption; one might have to explain several times in the course of one’s trip to patrolling demons that yes, one was legitimately allowed to wander around like this and yes, here was the documentation to prove it. And sometimes the troops – lower-class and uneducated as they were – wouldn’t recognize or understand the documents and you would have to go through the whole rigmarole again, to someone higher-ranking. Then – perhaps – you could be on your way. Until the next time you were stopped, of course.

        Plagueis glared around at them. “I do apologize if our philosophical discourse was getting in the way of all of your acting like impatient younglings – or hormonally crazed adolescents, in your case,” he added tartly to Asajj and Maul, who had decided to begin a passionate (exaggeratedly so, in Sidious’ opinion) exchange of saliva on their couch. Even Vader was slouching away from the pair, probably wishing that the time of each year that he was allowed to spend at the Jedi establishment in Heaven had already arrived and he could wash his hands of this weirdness.

        “Look, Master,” he piped up. “I’m going to be straight with you. Most of us are just here for the cold drinks. And those of us who do want to talk Force philosophy…well, maybe it’s just me, but it looks like they can’t get a word in edgewise.”

        Loath as he was to encourage the ungrateful little bastard, Sidious had to agree. “Vader is right, Master. We are not, in fact, having a discussion. We are listening to a poetic dissertation on the nature of the Dark Side composed by a pedantic and – if I may say so – somewhat sexually frustrated old Sith lord.”

        The last part was the fault of his daughter, his “illegitimate Sithling” as the YouTube apparently put it, Tara, and her friend Athena Morningstar; they’d always joked that Plagueis’ ornate descriptions of Dark Side mastery sounded extremely similar to what they crudely and to Sidious’ chagrin referred to as “butt-sex.” Now, the memory of their jokes made him bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

         Plagueis grew even whiter with rage. “Well then perhaps you should all go down to the main hall and see what liquor-fueled orgy your precious _Master Bane_ is conducting today!”

         The veranda hushed, even the sounds of the city beyond the high walls seeming to fade, as the assembled Sith looked and listened surreptitiously for the approach of Darth Bane. The Dark Lord of the Sith was usually uncanny at hearing what was said behind her back, and watching Plagueis get his head kicked in would likely be good for an hour or two of entertainment. And indeed, they could hear her heavily-booted footfalls coming up one of the passages-

          _Grandfather?_

         The voice rang out clear as a bell in Sidious’ head. He forgot Plagueis.

         She followed Bane up the stairs, climbing like a spider and straightening up slowly against the stone railing. Bane glanced back over her shoulder at the girl, trying to look disapproving, face creasing into laugh lines anyway. “I told you not to follow me up here just yet, Aoife.” The speaking of the name curved her painted lips into something like a smile. Around them, the tension had deflated; Plagueis was back to his usual low-level indignant simmer, and Maul and Asajj had quickly separated at the first sign of Aoife's approach.

         The girl didn’t even try to cower or look sorry. _See Grandfather_. She turned and her eyes found Sidious; her body quaked excitedly, hands flailing on her wrists. _Grandfather!_ she cried, running up as best she could and throwing her arms around him before he could stop her.

         Sidious pursed his lips, partly to avoid grinning like an idiot. It was not sentiment – never sentiment, not from him, not from Darth Sidious – but the girl did seem to elicit an…automatic physiological response from him. It was probably the closest he would ever come to the emotional state Vader sometimes called “the warm fuzzies.” He did his best to keep it in check, but it seemed to be the psychological equivalent of spice or some such thing. It was…habit-forming. _She_ was habit-forming.

        He could not afford to seclude himself from her; aside from the problems it would cause within the Temple, he had long ago decided that if anything was to be his ticket back into power, it would be Aoife. He could advise her and help her navigate the political arena, and in exchange, the Empire would be his – at least partly his, mostly his – once again.

        Besides, then they would rule together, as they always did in his stories. She would like that.

        Still, he knew the others would never let him live this down. “Come now, child, calm down.”

        He felt her spirits plummet in the Force; he was also aware that the others, who had also sensed the change in Aoife, were glaring at him, but he wasn’t bothered about them right now. He took in her feelings – sadness, disappointment, doubt in herself, and guilt that she had upset her grandfather, even if she didn’t understand how – as well as the look on her face – oh bloody hell, were those tears? Oh, she must be doing this on purpose – even as young as she was, she must have learned what effect her bloody  _tears_ had on him, as well as on her mother and Bane. Anyone in the Order, really.

       “It isn’t that I don’t _want_ a hug, Aoife,” he tried. “It’s only…it’s a bit hot, that’s all.”

       She continued to droop like a wilting flower, seeming unconvinced, or perhaps she simply didn’t care what his actual reasons were. As far as she understood it, she had hurt him in some way. _Aoife's_ _sorry, Grandfather._

        “You don’t _need_ to be, Aoife, you did nothing wrong,” Sidious tried again, feeling wretched. “I was being…silly. I was acting foolish. I am the one who is sorry.”

        For a moment, she looked uncertain, and then she seemed to reach some level of understanding, hands flapping happily at the epiphany. _That’s okay, Grandfather. Don’t feel sad. I don’t mind. I love you._

        The words _And I, you_ , were on his tongue (only because it was what she wanted to hear), but Sidious would rather suffer this wretched sentimentality a thousand times over than say such a thing in front of his fellow Sith. She sat down on the stone bench next to him. “Don’t want a lap?” he asked her.

        She shook her head, one of the nonverbal signals she’d recently picked up. _It’s okay,_ she told him.  _You'll be too hot_. Sidious gave a mental sigh of relief, even as a small part of him felt a pang of disappointment.

        “Want a sweet, Aoife?” asked Master Bane in a surprisingly soft voice. She seemed to have forgotten about pulverizing Plagueis, or perhaps she simply didn’t want Aoife to witness it – if that was the case, Sidious was eminently grateful for her discretion. “I’m sure I have one somewhere…”

        _No thank you, Master_ , Aoife replied politely. The bench had no backrest, so Aoife had begun to lean on Sidious as it became too draining to hold herself upright. He could tell from the little movements of her restless body that she was excited about something – her spirits on the rise, thank heavens. He didn’t feel like sitting through the tongue-lashing he’d get from Tara if her daughter returned from a visit sadder than she had come.

        “What is it?” he asked her. “What are you excited about?”

         _Forgot; a present for you!_ She had a present for him. _She_ had a present for _him_. After all this. Oh, this one would be a charmer. This one would court the populace and manage it with one hand. He could already sense that the others were wrapped around her finger, mesmerized by the sickly-sweet cuteness at which Aoife was such an expert.

         She reached into one of the pockets of her dress, and handed him a carefully folded flimsi; he unwrapped it and looked down at the neat columns of printed text. “Aoife, I didn’t know you had learned to type.”

          _Not all by myself,_ she admitted, looking guilty again. _Mama helped type it. When arm got tired. Aoife said what to put._

         “Well, that’s all right. What is this, then?”

        _A story!_ Her hands flapped faster and she bounced in her seat. _I wrote a story! Never wrote a whole story before. I wrote a story for Grandfather!_

        “For me? Why? Thank you, I love it…but why?”

         _Y_ _ou tell stories when I feel sad. When people are mean. Wanted to tell you a story for when people are mean._

        Sentiment.

        Oh, bugger.

        _Oh, damn them. Damn the others. I hate them all anyway, and they already hate me._ He reached down and lifted Aoife up onto his lap, and even gave her a peck on her round, soft, warm little cheek.

        “Thank you, Aoife,” he murmured to her. “I’m certain I shall enjoy it. I love you.”

 _I can read it,_ she offered. _I’m good at reading, Grandfather. Aoife read a whole book, without help from Mama or Walter; three chapters!_

        “ _Three_ chapters? Fancy that. Yes, I would like that very much, Aoife.” But perhaps the rest of the Order had seen enough of Lord Sidious going soft for now. “But let’s go and read it in my quarters. This bench isn’t very comfortable, is it?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, all fluff must come to an end. Sidious wants to help Aoife achieve unlimited power, but at what cost? (Sorry for the melodrama...but seriously, someone in this fic should be asking themselves this.)

         Tara knew about the stories.

         She knew her father believed she didn’t – he thought it was something just for him and Aoife, and in any other situation Tara would have found that adorable. The cuteness of it would have been tainted only by the guilty half-thought that she and Sidious had never shared such a bond. But at least Aoife would have that experience. Considering her father’s absence – it was coming on two years now – it had seemed that Sidious would help Kir to fill the void he’d left…in his way.

         _But what else did I really expect from him?_ Tara had always been willing to give Sidious too many chances. All the men in her life, really; Kir might be the only exception. This policy had had what could be described as mixed results, at best.

         She slumped down in her seat. Walter and Aoife weren’t here; she was allowed to look dismayed and emotionally drained. Tara could still remember how frightening it had been as a child to watch her mother go to pieces (as rare as the sight had been); she had vowed to hold off as much as she could from doing this in front of her children.

         Beside her, her old friend Yoshua rubbed her hand comfortingly as her other old friend Athena, sitting between him and her father, took another printout from the stack of flimsiplasts. “And then there’s this one.”

         “Aoife is so eloquent for her age,” Athena’s father Lucifer told Tara brightly from his spot next to his wife, to whom he’d been reading each of Aoife’s little stories; she knew he was trying to look on the bright side. “She could be a great writer if she keeps on like this.” Tara knew she should smile and say thank you. She didn’t have it in her right now.

        “I want to see if I understand this,” Darth Bane said, speaking for nearly the first time since the meeting’s start. Automatically, Tara turned her attention toward the Master, as did the others at the table. “You all know I’m not a clever woman. So I want to put it all together aloud so that you can all let me know if I’m comprehending it fully.”

         The large woman shifted in her chair. “So what these all are” (she indicated the papers) “is stories that little Aoife’s written – or rather that she’s had you type out for her, Darth Venemer,” she added to Tara, who nodded.

        “And these stories all hinge on people mistreating or angering Aoife in some fashion, and then meeting with a sticky end or some nasty comeuppance. Yes? All right. Now, Venemer, you know Aoife’s gotten the idea for this from stories that Sidious tells her?”

        “Yes, Master,” Tara confirmed. “She had me type out the first one she ever wrote, and she explained where she’d gotten the idea from.”

        Bane nodded. Then she said, “So the question seems to be, why is this one here – I think it’s this one” – she held up one sheet – “Why is this one here _about_ him?”

        There was silence around the table, except for the sound of Lucifer taking a long swig from his ever-present bottle, sagging self-consciously under the glare Athena shot him.

        “She struggled with it.” Tara spoke at last. “She kept changing her mind about the ending – the punishment part of it. She kept trying to go back and rewrite it. She…she didn’t want to do it, but then again she did want to. Or maybe she needed to. She was really…conflicted.”

        “Have you seen him hurt her?” Bane asked bluntly.

        “In – in what way, Master?”

        “In any way.”

        “I…No, Master.”

        Bane regarded her calmly. “You sure about that?”

        Tara considered it. “Well…she knows the Center was his idea. At least, I think she does. She heard him and me fighting about it after he enrolled her, and she’s got a long memory.” _Like me_.

        “What’s the Center?” asked Yoshua.

        “It’s like…this therapy place for younglings with some of the same issues as her,” Tara explained. “It’s sort of…experimental. I have to admit I’m not sure about all the kinds of therapy they do there – it’s a variety of techniques. I wasn’t sure about it at first, but…” she shrugged more helplessly than she’d meant to, losing the thread of her words suddenly. The others waited in silence for her to find it again.

         “The thing is,” Tara said at last, carefully, “I thought I understood autism. Because I know about mine. But mine is so much different than hers. And it’s…it _is_ a little scary. Because I don’t really understand what she _needs_. And I…you know; I’m worried I never really will.” She looked down at her hands, clasping themselves in her lap, contrary to their instinct. _I learned well. For whatever that's worth_. “I actually think I know how my mother felt now.”

         “Tara, your mother wasn’t just”- Athena began hotly, but was silenced by Yoshua’s hand on her shoulder.

         “I know she doesn’t like the Center,” Tara added. “But she doesn’t like going to school either.” _And yes, it’s occurred to me that it could be for similar reasons._

         Bane spoke. “For my money, I think Sidious is a bit harsh with her. Impatient. When she acts too ‘autistic.’”

         Tara couldn’t deny it. “But he tries so _hard_ with her. He’s fighting his nature the whole way, and he still manages to…well, he still manages to _love_ her. And I wasn’t even sure he really could do that, with _anyone_.”

        “He tries, but is that enough? You know what even the Jedi will tell you about _trying_ ,” Bane countered. She paused, regarding Tara.

        “He didn’t do that with you, did he?” she asked at last, sounding as if she was thinking aloud rather than expecting an answer, although Tara couldn’t be sure. “He should have, of course…but he didn’t. And yet you’ve never fully given up on him, have you, Venemer? Just like the way he keeps on going to his Master’s damn pompous teas.”

        Tara didn’t know how to respond. She shrugged again.

        “Well,” said Athena at last to Bane. “Look, Master, in the meantime, are you going to talk to him about this? Sidious, I mean.”

        “Most likely, eventually. I haven’t decided how yet. People like him chafe at taking advice from people like me. We didn’t learn it from a class. Besides, perhaps Venemer wants to do it herself?” Bane turned back to Tara expectantly.

        “I…” Tara realized it had become difficult even to process the question. “I guess I’ll have to. I mean…I’d love your help, Master…”

         Bane nodded slowly, softening somewhat. At last she said, “For what it’s worth, Venemer, speaking as a mother: whatever happens, young children are remarkably resilient. I wouldn’t worry about Aoife. She seems her usual self, and she seems happy enough.”

         Tara nodded, and tried to smile, in appreciation and gratitude if for no other reason. She just wanted to be alone, but she knew Aoife and Walter were waiting for her. The thought actually provided a bit more comfort than she'd thought it would. Someday, Aoife would understand, she thought. Aoife would understand what she had done, and what Sidious had done...even if she didn't agree with it, she would see that they had done it out of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like this story, fluffy as it was, was giving the wrong impression of Aoife and Sidious' ultimate relationship. So I'm trying to nudge it more in the direction I intend for it to take. It's probably discordant with the rest of the fic; I may work on that. (I may also add a reconciliation-epilogue-type chapter that's set years later.) As I've said, I never envisioned this to be more than a one-shot, so we'll see.


	4. Chapter 4

         “You’ll wear a hole in the carpet like that, you know,” said a familiar voice from the doorway of Sidious’ chamber. “And it’s _my_ carpet. That is, _I’m_ the one who’ll be paying to have it repaired, I’m sure.”

         Sidious stopped his pacing to glare at Darth Bane, the Sith’aris and Master of the Dark Side, who leaned against the doorframe, appearing nearly too tall and broad to fit into it.

        “Oh, yes?” he snapped. “And I suppose it wouldn’t be appropriate to discuss exactly _how_ you’ll be doing that, with my young granddaughter in a room not a few hundred feet away. After all, your ‘payments’ aren’t fit for the ear of a little girl.”

        “And _I_ suppose now _I’m_ to blush like a maiden and feel properly ashamed of myself?” Bane snorted. “Easy for a _man_ like you, Sidious, to turn your well-bred nose up at what I’ve done to keep this Order protected here – and its members out of the circles – when it’s thanks to me and my ‘payments’ that you still _have_ a nose.” She straightened. “Besides, I looked in on Aoife just a little while ago. Suffice to say she isn’t up to eavesdropping on adults-only tales of my exploits.” She glanced at Sidious meaningfully.

         Sidious folded his arms. He was aware he was being rather fresh with the Master, but if she was going to punish him for it, he reasoned, she would already have done so. “It’s her mother I blame. She ought to have taught her daughter at least a little self-restraint. After all, she has the same thing herself, doesn’t she? She ought to know how to get through to her.”

         Bane’s casual mood evaporated. “Sidious, you’ve raised exactly one child in the course of your life, and your main intention at the time was bending his fragile young mind to your will. I've had _nine_ of my own, including Blackheart. You know _nothing_ of this. Darth Venemer – or any mother – would have had a hell of a time keeping a _normal_ child – a ‘neurotypical’ child – of that age quiet for so long. And she tells me there was noise, and crowd, and the smells of unfamiliar food…I don’t know any more of this ‘autism’ than you do, Sidious. But I’m thinking I don’t need to. It’s not unlike how any child would react.”

         “Maul would never have reacted”-

         “ _No, but you broke Maul, Sidious_.” He stopped himself from flinching at the edge in her voice. “You broke him, and you _won’t_ break her. Her mother wouldn’t allow it, and neither will I. She’s _not_ Maul. She never will be.”

         She took a step toward him. “This isn’t about her, is it, Sidious? Of course it’s not. It’s about you. Your _disappointment_ at her inability to be extraordinary. To be the _magical_ child you believed that she was. And your _fear_. For her future. As well as the future of your own plans. Yes, I know about those.” She grinned slowly. Mirthlessly. “You thought she would be you, Sidious. And she isn’t. She isn’t you. Or Maul. Or me, either. She is – she will be – herself.”

         And he wanted to explain to her that she didn’t know what she was talking about – that it was easy for her to say such things; back in her day, being a ruler had been dependent less on diplomatic skill and more on one’s ability to bash heads in. But anger seemed to have overcome even his formidable oratory skills; he could not speak.

         “I have ruled this Order for over a thousand years, Sidious,” she told him, turning away and sidling back toward the doorway now. “Never have I met any two Sith who were alike.”

         “And where was your tender _sympathy_ when it was me?” his mouth called out at her back, having become seemingly disconnected from his brain.

         Bane turned back toward him. _“What?”_

          “I could never have fulfilled my Master’s plan – or yours – had either of you simply ‘accepted’ my…my _fits_ as they were. As both of you knew. You allowed him to do what he knew he must,” Sidious hissed at her. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way. And you are mistaken, _Master_ : Aoife _will_ become strong. As _I_ was.”

         Bane was silent for a few long seconds. At last, she said calmly, “Where you were concerned, Sidious…mistakes might have been made. Including by me.”

         Sidious felt his blood run cold (well, so to speak) with rage. _“There was no ‘mistake’ made.”_

         Bane ignored him. “I saw your condition much as you now see Aoife’s. Perhaps I was right to consider it an obstacle. Or perhaps...we could’ve found another way.”

         _“There was no other way!”_ Sidious realized he was shouting. He was not entirely certain why. He took a moment to calm himself, to sublimate his rage, as he had learned to do; to preserve it, but to keep it securely in hand. “I need no such apologies from you, my Master. I regret nothing of what was decided. Any… _discomfort_ I endured proved well worth my while. And may I say what a surprise it is to hear such sentimental self-delusion from _you_ , of all beings.”

         "Self-delusion? From me? _In this conversation?"_ Bane laughed harshly. "Oh, Sidious, lack of self-awareness truly is a hell of a drug."

          _"I am entirely self-aware!"_

          "Oh, of course you are." She seemed as if she wanted to say more, but she didn't.

         Even despite his feeling of momentary triumph, Sidious deflated slightly under her silent, ice-blue gaze. At last, he attempted to summon his old rage and bravado. “So what _would_ you have me do, then, _Master?”_

        “Be her grandfather,” she shot back, stalking from the room and leaving him to fume in her wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I'm working from the headcanon that Darth Sidious has (or at least, was born with) some form of seizure disorder, possibly akin to epilepsy, which (as far as I know) originally appeared in the ff.net fic "Alexis," by What-Ansketil-Did-Next ( https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3400637/1/Alexis )


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